Unexpected Gift
by skaia7
Summary: COMPLETED. Set immediately after The Tenth Power. Darrow can no longer keep anyone from getting close to him, especially the woman he loves. There are things that need to be said. But will he lose Calwyn before he gets the chance?
1. Leaving Antaris

Unexpected gift part 1

It had been hard, leaving Antaris behind. She did not know when she might return, and Lia's hard stares had cut her more and more each day until she was near cloven in two. Part of her yearned to stay where she still felt most at home, to fulfill Marna's wishes, the only mother she had ever known.

The other part felt suffocated by all the attention, and couldn't get away fast enough.

Even with Darrow by her side, tears had come unbidden to her eyes when she crossed the line of bare ground where the Wall once stood. Some of the priestesses had wanted to rebuild it, but she had convinced them otherwise. The healing dances had melted it; that must mean that the Wall should not be. In order for the land to heal, there must be no more barriers.

_And yet…_

She glanced sideways at the man who walked beside her. Darrow's face shone with strength, his eyes bright and alert after the long struggle with his illness. They had not yet spoken of that time, and there was much that Calwyn would say to him.

As if he knew she was watching, he turned his head and gave her his half-smile, reaching out to clasp her hand with his own as they walked through the snow. He was singing a low chantment deep in his throat, keeping the silver sled behind them light.

There was much she wanted to say, much she wanted to ask. Even though they were now lovers in the truest sense, she still felt that there was something of himself that he shielded from her, withheld, as if she had not yet earned the right to his inmost secrets. She knew that she was nearly ten years his junior, but had she not prove herself time and time again? How much more did he require before he would trust her with his whole heart?

_As I have trusted him with mine… _

She frowned at the green earth in front of her. It was true she had kept secrets from him in the past, but since his brush with death she had withheld nothing, pouring her soul into her dark eyes for him to see, if he wished. She would sometimes catch him looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face, as if weighing something in his mind. It made her feel young and untried, as she had felt on the day he had fished her from the river after she had impulsively followed him, fleeing Samis' wrath.

She did not like that feeling.

They had chosen to leave before dawn, creeping away on foot, even though Calwyn could easily have loaded them onto the sled and had them home in Ravamey before noon. But the villagers already had enough ammunition about her exploits to turn her into the new Goddess; she had not wished to give them more fuel for their fire.

So instead they would traipse through the forest south of Antaris, following the river until they were a safe enough distance from prying eyes to mount the sled and fly home.

_Home._

She looked ahead of them, to where Trout trudged, not wishing anyone to see the tears that still made tracks on his pale cheek. Halasaa followed Trout, lending his silent strength to the young man in his grief. Tonno and Keela followed a short distance behind them, murmuring quietly to each other.

_Mica._

Her heart clenched. They had purchased the healing of Tremaris at a heavy cost. It was as Halasaa had said, back at the Black Palace, when she had lain unconscious:

_Every chantment of healing has its price…_

Darrow's hand tightened in hers, as if he knew what she was thinking. He always seemed to know what was in her mind, and again she was stabbed through by the knowledge that she did not know what he was thinking, had never known…

Perhaps never would know.


	2. Close

Unexpected gift part 2

Her hand was cold in his own, and over his soft chantment he heard her give a small sigh, her face shadowed. She had done this many times over the weeks they had stayed in Antaris, and he knew she was thinking of Mica.

He grieved, too, though not in the same way that Calwyn and Tonno did, and certainly not like Trout. Mica had been a light spirit that had brightened the places they had traveled – from the cabins of _Fledgewing_ to the dark desert of Merithuros. But he had not allowed himself to get close to her.

Indeed, he frowned, as his boots parted the fresh grass, he had not allowed himself to get close to anyone. Not even Samis. Oh, they had been companions, had shared many adventures and learned many things together. But Darrow had lived in fear of Samis, despite their companionship. Because of Samis the other sorcerers in the Black Palace had never dared to speak to him, and after he left Samis on the bridge he had lived in fear of each new face, not knowing if what he saw was the truth or a deadly chantment bent on claiming his life.

In the months following that day on the bridge he had stopped only briefly in towns to replenish supplies. For an ironcrafter it was no hard thing to make coins appear from the rocks, and so he could easily and discreetly buy what he needed and continue his flight. He had eaten while running, hiding in ditches and caves while he fled the man who sought to destroy him, not daring to look behind, barely sleeping…

Was it any wonder he had become what he was?

From the day small Mouse had been snatched from the _Gold Arrow_, he had never allowed himself to make what others knew of as "friends." It was too dangerous. The Black Palace was far from what one might call a home, and yet it had been all he had known for so many years. In that place the word "friend" did not exist. He did not remember his name; he could barely remember his parents. Their life aboard a ship was hard in its own right, though he remembered their love.

Tonno and Xanni had almost breached his defenses – he trusted them, he depended on them. He had told them more than anyone else, and yet other than one night when they had all gotten drunk and shared stories together in a small tavern near Keld, he had held himself apart from them. Sometimes he had secretly watched their camaraderie as brothers – laughing and joking, sharing stories and thoughts - and had bitterly wished for a true companionship of his own.

Now, walking hand in hand with Calwyn, his heart caught in his throat.

There was so much he wanted to say.

Shivering, he thought of how close he had come to dying, the icy numbness that had seeped into his fingers and toes, then his throat as he fought to keep it at bay…

_How close he had come to leaving her alone._

True, she had miraculously found her brother, Halasaa – another pang of envy stabbed his heart – but Darrow wanted… wanted to be…

_What? _What did he want?

He squeezed her hand, as if to reassure himself that she was indeed walking beside him. They had come so close to losing each other more than once. More than twice. In fact, it was a miracle that they had survived as many perils as they had.

But more miraculous was the fact that she was still at his side. He knew he was a hard man to be around. Harsh words had flown at her more often than kind, and he had cursed himself every time he saw the hurt in her dark eyes, hurt that he had caused.

He had tried to warn her, the first time they left Antaris together…

"_I've not had much to do with women." He was walking ahead of her, and she couldn't see his face. "Before I came to Antaris, I don't know that I'd ever spoken more than ten words to a woman. I have always thought them strange creatures."_

"_And now?" she had asked, softly, and he imagined he heard a tinge of hope._

_And now… what did he think of this girl who followed him? Who had risked her life to save his - not once but three times - who was willing to bear the harsh mountains at his side, who had a strong yet gentle way about her that somehow calmed his fears and stirred feelings within that he did not understand? She asked him questions, hungry for knowledge the way he hungered for companionship. He knew she was searching to prove herself, to find her place in the world…_

_Perhaps they were not so dissimilar. _

_And so he had replied, "Now, I think them much the same as men."_

_He had not turned to glance at her face, but the air had shimmered with a silence that told him…_

…_it was not what he should have said._

His eyes hardened, cursing himself yet again. He did not know when he had come to love her. Perhaps it was when she had daringly frozen the mouth of the youth in Kalysons. His heart had blenched with fear for her – she did not understand how dangerous it was to use chantment outside Antaris. He could have lost her that night and, as usual, his concern had come out as anger.

He furrowed his brows, thinking. No, it must have been before that. Perhaps walking the mountains together, as she showed him tubers and berries that were safe to eat, and as he explained to her names of the patterns in the stars. Or even before that, day after day sitting among the hives, as she smiled at him in the shadow of the leaves… He sighed. Questions swarmed through his mind like angry bees, questions she had asked him about himself, about his past, questions he had refused to answer. Now that Samis was defeated, he knew they would have to be answered.

They had made a promise to each other.

"_There are things you and I must say to each other, Calwyn…" _

After the healing dances they had barely had a moment alone together, no time to speak the words that must be said.

Now, that time had come, but he didn't know what to say, how to share himself with her. Not in the way she deserved.

And so they walked in silence.

After a time, Halasaa stopped, raising his hand. _Here._

Wordlessly, they all gathered on the silver sled, and effortlessly Calwyn lifted it, and sent them winging home.

He felt power surging through her as she sang, stronger than he had ever felt in anyone. Once, he had felt envy at Samis' power, and fear. But with Calwyn, he felt only a surge of pride and love. That such a one as she had chosen him… had stepped into a war that had not been hers to fight, and had been the one person he had come to trust above all others… had come to love…

He took a deep breath, his exhalation lost in the wind-whipped air, and vowed to find the courage to speak the words, to become worthy - for once in his life - of this unexpected gift.


	3. Emissary

Unexpected gift part 3

They landed without so much as a sway, and everyone climbed off onto the deserted beach. Ahead of them, _Fledgewing_ rocked peacefully in the swells, just where they had left her. Trout walked away swiftly, before anyone could speak. Tonno led an apprehensive Keela to the surf, and Darrow followed Halasaa as he stretched his lean legs by walking towards the trees, basking in the warmth.

Calwyn alone stood by the silver sled, thinking.

She could easily speed the boat back to the island. Her powers were such that it would take maybe half a day before they would be back in their huts to rest and gather provisions for the trip to Merithuros… but her gaze lingered on Trout. She had been dreading this moment. Would he return with them? Or would he wish to go back to his long-abandoned college? Or perhaps to another land, far away from Mica's ghostly laughter that seemed to hover among the furled sails of their craft.

He had shuffled over to a fallen log, sitting down heavily and lowering his head to his hands. He hadn't worn his lenses since that dreadful night, as if refusing to see what his heart desperately wished was not so.

She crossed to him and sat quietly at his side. He did not lift his head, and after a few moments she extended her hand to rest gently on his back.

He lowered his hands with a shuddering sigh. "I can't," he whispered brokenly. "I can't go back there."

She sat in silence, letting her hand rub slow circles on his sweaty shirt. She understood – it had been hard for her on Ravamey during those months when Darrow was away. She had endured because there was the hope he would return.

Trout had no such hope.

"What else can I do?" he muttered, squeezing his hands together. Calwyn's gaze drifted out to the blue water, which once had held such freedom and promise. A movement caught the edge of her vision, and she turned to see that Darrow had come up beside them. His gaze was – as usual – unreadable. He knelt in front of them both, looking first at her, and then at Trout.

He cleared his throat. "I have a favor I would ask of you," he began, and Calwyn felt apprehension squeeze her heart. She remembered the last time he had asked a favor… asked her to stay in the Black Palace helpless and bereft of her powers, waiting while he went to seek Samis alone. She fully expected him to ask her to accompany Trout, Halasaa, and Keela back to Ravamey while he and Tonno took _Fledgewing_ back to Merithuros…

Then she noticed he was not speaking to her, but to Trout.

The shoulders under her hand quaked, but he made no reply, so Darrow continued. "I need someone to go to Merithuros," he began.

Calwyn's mind raced. _He is not going himself? _They had spoken about it, just before leaving Antaris, that Darrow had been away too long, that the tenuous peace that Calwyn had bought for them might not last without the Lord of the Black Palace there to hold it together. She looked up, noticing that the gray-green eyes flicked once to her, then back to Trout as he continued.

"…to go to Merithuros and check on Heben." He paused slightly, refusing to meet Calwyn's penetrating stare. "There are things I must do before I return," he continued slowly. "Things that can no longer wait."

Trout did not reply for a long time, and yet Calwyn thought she felt him straighten his shoulders, and a peace come over his troubled mind.

"How," he whispered, then stopped, swallowing. When he began again, his voice was stronger, more sure. "How am I to get there?"

Now Darrow looked to her. "I am hoping Calwyn will take us," and her shoulders slumped. He had said 'take us,' which meant he intended to go back right away. Not that she should be surprised – after all, this is what they had decided. And yet… somehow she had hoped for at least a day or two at home… of peace…

But Darrow's warm hand covered hers, startling her into looking up at his hawk's face. This time, his expression was soft, a tenderness in his eyes that she had not seen in daylight. He continued to speak to Trout, all the while gazing into her eyes.

"We mean to drop you off, you and Halasaa. Then there are things that we must do."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. She was to be parted from Halasaa?

_Do not fear, my sister._ Halasaa's voice brushed her mind. _He has spoken to me of his intent, and I have given him my blessing. _ There was a ghost of a smile in his voice.

Darrow continued, turning back to Trout, "You know we have been away too long. I would know what has transpired in my absence. I would have you and Halasaa go as my emissaries to Heben, and have Halasaa report back to Calwyn on the state of affairs."

It was true. Since the dances of healing in Antaris her powers had grown and deepened. She felt sure that she could speak with Halasaa now even if she were in the crater left by the lost city of Spareth and he beyond the Outer Isles. But what were these secret things that Darrow must do, things more important than the re-creation of Merithuros for which they had all fought so hard?

"Will you do this, my friend?" Darrow asked in his low voice.

Trout nodded his head once, a purpose to his mien that she had not seen for some time. He stood and crossed the sand to where Halasaa, Tonno, and Keela stood. Apparently Halasaa had told the couple of this development, and both embraced him in farewell.


	4. Hope

Unexpected gift – chapter 4

Darrow stayed where he was, knelt before Calwyn in the sand. Her dark eyes were on him, questioning, her frown mistrustful. He let out a long breath.

_Well, what more do I deserve?_ He thought with regret._ I have never given her cause to trust that I would not abandon her._

"Calwyn," he began softly, looking down at their hands, and felt a flash of fear. _This is going to be harder than I thought, to open up to her. What if I say something wrong? What if I… _

_Well, I may as well start with the obvious. _

He brought the other hand to clasp hers between both his own. "My love, I know I deserve your mistrust," he began in a low voice. "I have never allowed you to know my thoughts, or my plans, and…" he had to stop, had to look up into her face. Her dark eyes pierced his gray ones, her face set, and he tried again, "You know that I love you."

She blinked hard, her eyes searching his, and he knew she was still waiting for him to say the worst, that he was going to Merithuros alone, that he was leaving her behind. It pained him to see the fear in her eyes.

His grip strengthened on her hand, and his words tumbled forth unchecked. "As I lay in the Dwellings before the dance of healing, I had much time to think. I had much time to go over the last two years in my mind, the time we have spent together. I found much that I would say to you." He stopped, seeing tears begin to gather in her eyes. He drew forth one hand to cup to her soft cheek. "I would have us go somewhere for a short time - just the two of us, somewhere alone - where we can say all the things that need to be said."

Calwyn could contain herself no longer. She launched herself from the log, throwing her arms about Darrow's neck and not even caring that her knee landed on a sharp stone when it hit the sand. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing deeply the scent of him. His strong arms came up to wrap around her waist, and she felt his fingers clutch at her tunic, squeezing her tight.

She had longed to hear those words, and now that they had been spoken, she almost could not believe her ears. She knew how important it was that they return to Merithuros, to continue the healing they had begun in Antaris. And to hear him say that this, too, was important… that she was important…

He put his hands to her waist and gently tugged her away from him, just far enough to look into her face. Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks, but she was shocked to see a glint of tears misting his own gray depths. _I have never seen him weep, _she thought. He brought a hand up to push a stray black hair behind her ear, then cupped that hand to her neck, brushing her lips with his. She felt his tears mingle with hers as they kissed, and then a tremor course through his body.

They only allowed themselves the one kiss – sweet and stolen – before Darrow pulled away and rested his forehead to hers, a shuddering breath escaping his lips. "Dear love," he murmured, eyes closed. "Soon."

She nodded, and they both helped each other to their feet, unwilling to move much further apart from each other than it took to accomplish the task. He clung to her hand as they turned to say their goodbyes to Tonno and Keela.

"Take care, lad," Tonno growled.

Keela clung to Calwyn. "Return soon, my sister," her eyes sparkled, a smile on her face. "I doubt we will find the Clans on speaking terms when we return to the Black Palace."

Calwyn hesitated. Despite how much she longed to be alone with Darrow again, could they really afford to take this time? What might this cost a new Empire thrown into chaos and teeming with famine and unrest?

She threw a questioning glance to Darrow, and saw his calm resolve. If anyone would know how much time they could spare, he would.

Tonno and Keela waved from the deck of the _Fledgewing _as Halasaa, Trout, Calwyn, and Darrow mounted the silver sled.

They sped through the air, Calwyn's plait whipping in the fierce wind while her companions clung to the sled beneath them. Not that they had anything to fear – her chantment bound them securely to the sled. Once or twice she glanced at them as they flew. Darrow's face was set. Trout's, also, was impassive. Halasaa's eyes were closed, his head tilted slightly back in the warmth of the sun, a peaceful smile on his face.

They crossed the sea, and then the red sands were flashing beneath them.


	5. Staying Behind

They landed at the Black Palace, Darrow singing the chantment that opened the door. He glanced at Calwyn, motioning her to stay with the sled while he went inside briefly, not knowing what they might find. The three men disappeared into the cool darkness, leaving her standing open-mouthed in the harsh sun.

She could have stomped her foot in frustration. By the Goddess! She was the Singer of All Songs, no longer some wayward child! She had just cured him of the snow-sickness, performed great dances of healing, melted the wall… surely she deserved to stand beside him before all Merithuros as an equal!

She stalked towards the opening Darrow had left, and was one breath away from going inside…

Memories flashed through her head of the last two times she had been asked to stay behind, and the events that ensued because she had followed. The first was the youth in Kalysons. The second had been when they had docked in Mithates, and that business with the Clarion…

_When Xanni had been killed._

Grief choked her breath. First Xanni, then the Palace of Cobwebs, then Ched, then Mica… How many more deaths would stain her hands? She turned and trudged wearily back to the sled, all her fire extinguished.

"_You must learn to listen,"_ Marna had said.

And listen she would.

She sat on the sled, wrapping her arms about her knees, fingering her dark plait. There was a light breeze wafting from the new lake, and the cry of birds swooping low to skim the water's surface for fish.

_Fish?_

Her sharp eyes watched the waters' surface. It seemed that the healing she had begun on this land was progressing faster than they had thought. She watched a dark bird dip its beak in the silver waters and bring forth a wriggling catch, then wing away to feast on its prize. She let out a soft sigh. This land was becoming quite beautiful. The breeze, the sun on the water, and the grass that was beginning to push shoots towards the sky…

Suddenly, something covered her mouth. An arm clamped firmly around her chest, wrenching her to the ground. Her scream was muffled, a cloying scent filling her nostrils. Her vision turned fuzzy, her flailing arms growing heavier.

Within seconds, she slumped to the red earth, unconscious.

Darrow had lingered inside the opening to the Black Palace, fully expecting Calwyn to follow them. When she had not, his brows had drawn together in puzzlement, and he almost turned back. But, the sooner he brought Trout to Heben, the better.

They found the young man mercifully alone. His brows shot up in surprise when the three travelers entered his chamber, swiftly dropping the map he had been studying.

"My lord," he stood at once. "You have returned."

"I am here but briefly, Heben," Darrow toned, slipping easily into the formal cadence of speech. "There is something I must do first, but I will leave these two in my stead until I return." The introduction was made, the orders given, brief news exchanged. "I shall return in a week. Tell no one I was here, but prepare for my return." Impatiently, Darrow spun around, his mind already back to a black-haired girl by a silver sled…

_DARROW! _

Calwyn's voice exploded in his mind, the force of her terror nearly sending him to the floor. He wrenched around to Halasaa, who was on his knees, his hands to his head. Heben and Trout stood frozen in shock, not having heard her cry.

Just as suddenly, it was gone, the absence in his mind more chilling than the call. The moment he could move, his arms were making circles, his growling chantment commanding the stones to part. Openings appeared in the walls, in some cases revealing the astonished looks from black-robed sorcerers or silk-swathed courtiers. He was striding through the holes before they were complete, heart hammered in his chest, eyes dark with fear.

The last wall parted to reveal the silver sled, and Calwyn's hair comb half buried in the sand.

Halasaa was at his shoulder, both of them looking around frantically, calling for her both aloud and in mindspeech.

"Calwyn!" Darrow all but screamed, surging forward to the top of a hill and looking all around.  
_My sister, please answer us! _Halasaa's dark eyes were grave.

Heben and Trout also wandered near the sled, calling her name.

The wind whipping sand against the black stone was their only answer.

_Sorry for the short chapter – I'm working on more! I promise!_

_p.s. Someone emailed me a good comment about how Darrow sort of said too much too quickly in the scene by the beach, so I've edited it some. Hopefully it helps. _


	6. Torture

She was lying on something cold, and hard. Fighting her way up through the foggy depths, she wrested her eyes open and tried to move. Her hands were tied, her body on its side in what looked to be a small cave.

_Darrow! Halasaa! _ Calwyn called in mind speech… only to have her words sit like stones in her mind, fixed, as if chained.

She opened her mouth to sing loose her bonds, and found that her throat would not work. There was something around her neck… something tight that constricted…

Heart pounding, she abruptly scrambled to sit up.

"Ah, so you awake."

Her bound hands were at least in front of her body so that she could bring them up to her neck. A slim metal band encircled her neck, emanating an ominous buzz. Her head whipped from right to left, searching for her abductor. She tried to speak, but found that, too, impossible.

"Don't bother," the voice said again. "You will do no singing, witch, not while you wear the Collar."

She finally found his eyes, shrouded in darkness in a far corner of the cave. Her mind was nearly bursting, but no thoughts would escape the locked gates of her mind, no speech would pass her lips.

"No doubt you are wondering why you have been chosen," her abductor continued, the eyes moving forward until the figure stood illuminated in the firelight. He was a Merithurian, that much was clear, with sun-darkened skin and hard eyes. He was older than she or Darrow, older than Tonno even. Perhaps of forty summers. His face was lined with care, his expression full of hatred. "I have been waiting for you to return, the sorceress who toppled the Palace of Cobwebs. My associates and I have waited and watched for months, and when you turned up…" his face broke into a malicious smile. "Well, needless to say it made me a happy man."

Calwyn didn't need to hear him say more. She could guess that he had been someone important in the Palace of Cobwebs, or had lost someone important in its collapse. His eyes held more hate than she had ever seen, especially more than had ever been directed her way. It was a physical blow to see it, hurled at her like a spear.

"So, you know that you deserve to pay," he sounded satisfied, seeing her guilt rise plain to her face. "Well then, you shall be pleased to learn that you shall pay more than you know." And with that, he strode to her, and knocked her soundly. Her vision swirled, and she welcomed the approaching blackness.

Darrow felt empty, as if all strength had been drained from him. And yet, he felt on edge, as if a wire ran taut through his body, keeping all muscles poised and strained. He, Trout, Heben, and Halasaa had searched the entire valley, without success. Whoever had abducted Calwyn – for he knew deep in his heart that something terrible had befallen her – had taken care to cover their tracks, and carry her away. Now they sat, each fidgeting some part of their body anxiously, waiting for the report from the scouts. They had sent teams far and wide, searching beyond the valley, questioning caravans and the various villages that had sprung up near the lake. So far, no word.

Heben looked to his lord. The man who commanded the Black Palace was white as a sheet. He would never have expected such a passionate reaction from the possible Emperor of Merithuros. Granted, he knew the Lady Calwyn, and could well imagine the sway she might bear over a man's heart. As for himself, he knew he would never fall for a woman not of his own lands. It had been ingrained in him from earliest childhood that only a landed, wealthy Merithurian maiden would be his wife. In the courtiers currently entrenched in the Palace, several of the young ladies had caught his eye as possible candidates, but so far he had not had the time nor the inclination to pursue their attention. The batting eyelashes and veiled smiles would have to wait until he was established, until his position was secured, before he would be available to marry.

But Darrow… he was a man already conquered. Heben could see it in his eyes. His fingers knotted themselves anxiously, finding their way to rake his fair hair several times each hour, expelling a harsh breath with each fretful motion.

Halasaa constantly called to his sister, praying that with each plea she would reply, her voice calm and relieved, having freed herself from her captors. He had no doubt of her powers, but something must have delayed her, must have hindered her. Panic near consumed him at the thought that she might lie injured… or dead…

They would not rest until she was recovered, though with each hour that passed the likelihood of finding her alive grew more and more slim.

Darrow could not find words to express his sorrow. To think that he had carelessly waved her aside, like one of Heben's hegsi! Tears stood like shards of glass in his gray-green eyes, yet he refused to let them fall, refused to let another see such weakness. He would find her! He must find her! There were things… things that must be… be said…

Finally, after hours in the stifling heat, hours that ticked by without the slightest hint of reprieve, a scout burst through the door. His raiment was disheveled, his face flushed as he cried, "A trail!"

Within seconds, he was facing an empty room.

Calwyn had never truly experienced pain. Grief, yes. Heart-sickness and sorrow, yes. But never true pain. Now, as blood trickled down the various cuts on her body, as her breath heaved against her bonds, she thought she was getting an idea.

Her captor – Gorun – had trussed her up like a bouquet of dried flowers. Head hanging, she had nearly passed out three times as he drew his knife along her skin, causing bright red streams to flow forth. He never cut deep enough, never deep enough for her to pass out, but enough to cause pain. She refused to cry out, mustering her strength. Not that he would have heard her, the Collar still choking her speech. But her spirit still refused to yield. If this was how he intended to break her, he would need to do better than this paltry display.

Darrow's face hung suddenly before her, as if his portrait were suspended. She could well imagine his worry…

… Or would he? Would he fret over her disappearance the same way her heart had seized with panic over his snow-sickness? Would he search for her with the same fervor with which she had sought his cure? Would he stoop to the same level she had, debase himself as she had done with Samis? All for love?…

Another line of pain was drawn across her thigh, but doubt cut her deeper still. _What would Darrow do?_ Would he come for her? Would he shed a tear, and then feel immense relief that he could now rule the Black Palace without her to question his every move, without her dark eyes to bore into his back as he moved among the silk-clad courtiers and black-swathed sorcerers. His power was great, she knew, made greater by his arrogance, by his guarded calculation. It was something she knew she would never master, for all her learned chantment He alone had mastered that deliberate indifference. No doubt learned under Samis' tutelage, she though. She cared too much, felt too deeply to ever rule with disregard.

_So where does that leave us?_ She pondered, as another mark was left on her lower back. She hissed in pain. After so many hours of torture, her mind began to retreat to a place where she no longer felt the pain, preferring instead its own measured musings. She had deduced that Gorum had no intention of letting her go, instead enjoying each hitched breath he managed to draw from her, feeling his satisfaction at each drop of blood as keenly as her own regret.

_If only I had not plunged into the stream, I would not have know such sorrow!_ she thought. _But then… would I truly take it all back? Would I not have met Tonno, and Xanni, Trout, Heben, Halasaa, Darrow… and dear Mica…_

_No,_ she vowed as the knife moved to skewer her earlobe. _I would not go back! I would not change what has befallen, except perhaps to have saved them… if I could…_

These were her last thoughts, as she finally succumbed to the siren song of darkness.


	7. Searching

The scouts led Darrow and soldiers along a red cliff half a day from the Black Palace. The ground was barely disturbed, but every hundred paces or so, there was a pair of footprints that had been missed, as if whomever had swept the tracks had gotten careless. One of these footprints was deeper than the other, as if the maker were carrying a heavy burden over one shoulder. Sometimes these footprints were followed by a hegsi track, indicating the bearer led the beast behind him.

Heben and Darrow exchanged a sober look.

"I find it remarkable that the caravans and traders did not notice a lone man carrying an unconscious woman over his shoulder out into the desert," Heben huffed.

Darrow did not reply, his eyes scanning the cliff for any sign of a cave or overhang, any place that might have been this villain's destination. So far, nothing. He had strong suspicions that the caravans had been paid – and paid well, for that matter – in exchange for their silence. This spoke of someone extremely wealthy who had planned, waited and watched, before acting. Was Calwyn simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was she the intended victim? By now many whispers in camps spoke of the so-called Singer of All Songs, in some versions a wild, unkempt slip of a girl from the barbarian north, and in others a jewel-eyed goddess with flames curling her raven hair. Many scoffed, but many others believed. He sighed. The one thing Calwyn could do, without even knowing, was inspire hope. Or anger.

He knew both from first hand experience.

He rubbed his hands over his face. It had been nearly a day since Calwyn's abduction, and he had neither slept nor eaten since their departure from Antaris early the previous morning. _Calwyn… _His arms ached, remembering the feel of her body pressed into his embrace on the beach; his chest ached, the smell of her hair in the salt breeze. _Was it only hours ago? Not weeks or years?_ It felt like a lifetime.

Behind him, Halasaa's sharp breath caught his attention.

"There," he spoke aloud, his unpracticed voice hoarse, dark finger pointing upwards towards the summit. Darrow's keen eyes could barely make out a small fissure in the rocks. It was the only possible place.

The men charted an arduous course up the rocks, soldiers keeping trained eyes on the fissure, in case of lookouts or sign of flight. Rocks cut into their hands, sweat dripping into their eyes. Darrow admired how Halasaa's dark form, though slim, powered up the cliffs ahead of all the soldiers who grunted and strained their way up. The climb was not only difficult, it also was done in relative silence, especially as the group neared their target.

Once they neared the fissure, Darrow could see a small footpath, only wide enough for a man to inch along with his back to the cliff. Glancing down, he had a brief flash of how easily Calwyn could have been dropped…

_If she was brought this way._

It didn't seem likely that a man carrying a tall woman- no matter how slender – could have navigated this strenuous course. It would take great strength.

_Or great hatred._

Halasaa held up his hand. Turning to Darrow, his eyes grim, he nodded. Darrow closed his eyes and tried to feel within the rock. His brow furrowed. There were two people inside, neither one capable of chantment. At least, he could feel no chantment. But Calwyn had not called out, and Halasaa could not reach her. Perhaps he would not be able to sense chantment even if she were present.

The soldiers went first, storming the small cave. After a moment or two, they returned… dragging two dirty and disheveled looking peasants behind them.

An old couple, cowering and weeping and begging not to be hurt. One of the soldiers raised his sword pommel to quiet them in the way of the Black Palace, but Darrow raised his hand.

"Old mother," he addressed the woman, gentle but with a lordly air. "Have you seen anything unusual yesterday? Perhaps a man carrying a large burden?" Her eyes widened, and she glanced at the soldiers flanking her. "You will not be harmed. Indeed," he snapped his fingers, and Heben straightened. "We will pay you for your trouble." Heben pulled several coins from his belt, and the woman's eyes went even wider.

"Y-yesterday," she stammered quickly, keeping her eyes on the coins. "I hear scraping on the rock, and grunting like a hegsi. I peek out the door, holding my big stick, thinking to see a cliff wolf or other animal needing to be driven off. Instead, I see a man carrying a dead girl."

"Dead?" Darrow hissed, stepping towards her. Heben placed his hand on Darrow's chest, holding him back.

She dropped her head in fear. "Perhaps not dead! But not moving, so I think dead."

"Did you see where he went?" Heben demanded, holding the coins higher.

The woman licked her lips. "Toward the pass."

Darrow and Heben exchanged a look. Heben handed over the coins, which the woman snatched up and quickly held close to her chest as if she expected them to be taken away again.

"Let's go," Darrow ordered, turning his back quickly, trying to control his breathing. _She can't be dead!_

"Sir?" He stopped, but did not turn. "This man… he carried many weapons. Sword, knives, crossbow. Packs on a hegsi filled with many strange things. He had long branches tied to the hegsi that dragged behind him to cover his tracks. I am thinking that this man… he is not a man you want to know who you are."

"Thank you," Heben replied, nodding to the soldiers who began to follow Darrow back down the cliff. The old woman clung to the old man, both watching the retreating backs and glancing greedily at the coins in her hand.

Once they reached the bottom, Darrow turned suddenly and violently punched the cliff wall. Halasaa went to him when he recoiled, holding his bloody fist and hissing curses, both from pain and frustration. The tree person's dancing fingers quickly healed the broken bone and torn flesh, but he did not bother trying to admonish the stricken man for his foolish display. He felt Calwyn's absence keenly, and was just as distraught.

Heben spoke quietly to the soldiers, questioning them about the pass ahead. It would take another half a day to reach it: it was a small gap that led to a horseshoe shaped canyon. Not a large canyon – perhaps a hundred paces wide. None of the soldiers knew of any caves or other shelter inside.

Why would he have headed there?

XXX

_I'm working on the next part! Hopefully another chapter up this week… two if I really get inspired…_


	8. Discovery

Gorum sharpened his knife on the stone, his eyes reflecting in it in the dim torch light. He had cut the witch down, allowing her to lie flat for a while. In his previous experiments with other victims, he had discovered that if he allowed them to hang upside down for too long they would die before he was ready. He finished sharpening and tested it on his thumb. Very sharp.

Her arms and legs looked like birds nests – hatch marks from his knife on every inch of exposed skin. There were strips where he had peeled the skin from her, inch by painful inch.

She stirred, once again bringing her bound hands up to her neck. The Collar had cost him everything in his storehouses, but the dead look in her eyes that got more solid with each cut was worth any price.

He watched as she adjusted, looking in vain for comfort that would never come, then became still again. _Sleep while you can,_ he thought acidly. Next he would remover her clothing and begin cutting off the parts that made her a woman.

Just as he had lost everything that made him a man.

He had been in the vestibule outside the inner court when the collapse came, and had managed to escape with only one injury… one that made him useless now to any woman.

To add insult to the most humiliating of injuries, in the collapse he had lost his wives, his children, and his position as a trusted royal advisor. He had great ambition – had maneuvered himself so that when the new prince became emperor, he would have risen with him to new heights of wealth and prestige.

And now…

He looked down at his dirt-streaked hands, and saw in his mind how they looked cradling his first-born son's broken body, and the flame of hate in his heart was stoked ever higher.

But it would have to wait. His hegsi needed water.

XXX

Calwyn stayed as still as she could. The less she moved, the less the burning pain would sweep across her body like wildfire. Even absolutely still, though, she was in tremendous pain. The malicious band around her throat chafed and cut in addition to stifling her powers so that she could not heal herself or call for help.

She searched her memory, trying to place the face of her captor that would now be forever etched into her mind. She didn't remember ever seeing him before, and did not know how he knew her.

At least the Collar didn't affect her hearing. She heard her captor leave, and waited until she didn't hear him returning before slowly rolling over.

On either side of the small cave, torches burned. They must have been coated with a very expensive fuel because they gave off no smoke. _A good thing, _she mused. They would have both suffocated. She grimaced as one of the skinned strips hit the ground. _Maybe that would have been a good idea…_

Darrow's worried face flashed in her mind.

_On second thought._

Watching the door for signs of his return, she brought the ropes on her wrists up to her mouth and began trying to work them loose with her teeth. It took longer than she would have liked, and as they got looser her heart began to beat faster, anticipating his return.

Suddenly, one of the knots gave, and the ropes dropped to the ground. Moving slowly as fire raced through her limbs, she nearly bit through her lip to make it to a standing position. She stumbled towards the entrance, holding onto the damp rock walls for support and holding her breath against both capture and the physical agony. Passing through the small entrance, she found herself in a rock corridor. She pressed on, not thinking until she had made it deep within the darkness that she should have taken one of the torches.

_Too late now to go back for it…_

She felt her way along, eyes wide in the pitch black, hands and feet moving tentatively against the possible impact with an unseen stone or outcropping. After what seemed like an eternity, she saw light ahead.

Approaching it cautiously, listening and straining to see or hear any sign of Gorum's return, and nearly shaking from exhaustion, pain, and fear, she saw that the entrance to the underground lair was merely a slit in the rock face. The way it was angled it would take someone standing at just the right place to see it. To the left, the canyon curved around in a circular shape. To the right, she could see the entrance, hovering maddeningly close.

From her left, she heard the huffing of a hegsi, and Gorum's low cursing coming from around a rocky outcropping. She threw her body out from the entrance and landed in a pile of brush. She crawled desperately under the pile, praying that she wouldn't be seen, and held her breath. Gorum disappeared into the crevice, dragging the stubborn hegsi behind him, still cursing. She reckoned it would take him time to drag the stubborn beast back to the cave and discover her missing.

Time she would not waste.

As soon as the rump of the hegsi was out of sight, she crawled out of the brush, hauled herself upright, and half-stumbled, half-ran as fast as her bare feet could over the stony ground. She fell twice, each time glancing in terror over her shoulder, expecting to see _his _furious, hate-filled face filling her vision, and his vicious hands yanking her back to the dark, torturous hell.

Reaching the mouth of the canyon at last, Calwyn scanned the horizon for a clue as to which way to turn. To her right, dune after dune stretched on into eternity. To her left, far in the distance, a small black dot hovered at the edge of the sky.

_The Black Palace…_

Never had she thought to be so glad to see that dark, sinister shape!

Hugging the cliff wall, she began to work her way towards it, listening intently behind her for sounds of the inevitable pursuit.

It did not take long.

A roar sounded behind her, filled with purpose and rage. It was the call of the hunter, and it stirred in her an irresistible urge to run, to flee, to get as far away from it as she possibly could. She didn't look where she ran, she didn't care what sharp plants scraped her or what stones cut her feet, or how much blood began to flow from the numerous cuts along her body.

She just ran.

Rounding a corner of the cliff, she collided with someone.

If she could have, she would have screamed.

As it was, she fought like a demon, kicking and writhing until that person was forced to let her go, and then she tried to crawl away, taking in great sobbing gulps of air as she struggled once again to her feet. She only made it a few paces before her path was once again blocked. Looking up, expecting to have to fight her way past this sentient obstacle, she found instead the astonished face of…

… Darrow.

XXX

He caught her just as she collapsed, scooping her into his arms and turning swiftly around, striding towards Halasaa and calling to Heben, "Take over." The Lord of the Black Palace could not bring himself to look down: the brief flash of her blood-streaked form already more than he ever wanted to see.

Halasaa put his hand to her forehead, closing his eyes and reaching deep within to feel the river inside her.

"It is strong," he whispered, opening his eyes for a moment before beginning his dance of healing. His brow furrowed, and after a moment he opened his eyes again. Noticing the metal band around her neck, he touched it briefly before recoiling his hand as if stung. "This," he whispered, and Darrow was forced to glance down to see what he meant. "It impedes the healing. It will not let me help her."

Deep within Darrow's throat, he began a powerful chantment, pouring all his power into his voice. Still, the metal band would not allow him sway. By all accounts it should have disintegrated into nothing, facing the power of his focused song. But it did not.

After a long moment, he stopped, his attempt, his face turning hard as chiseled stone. Without a word, his long strides began carrying them across the sands towards the shape on the horizon, Halasaa following close behind.

_Hold on, Calwyn, please,_ Darrow begged silently._ Hold on._


	9. Vows

Three days.

Three long, weary days.

It had taken over a day to find a blacksmith to try to remove the band around her neck. The material it was made from had never been seen before, and neither Darrow nor Halasaa could touch it for long periods of time without experiencing pain, nausea, and an excruciating headache to follow.

They had no idea what effect it would have on Calwyn, and whenever he thought about it Darrow had a gut-clenching sense of dread.

Trout and Heben had taken over the mediation between the displaced courtiers and the disgruntled sorcerers. At first, Trout had tried to join the two men in their vigil, but the thought of losing Calwyn so soon after losing Mica was too much for him to bear, and he preferred to help Heben in whatever small way he could to sitting and waiting in a dark sickroom with more blood and more pain. The one time Heben had dared disturb Darrow on some matter of state, he left the room whiter than new snow on the wall of Antaris. Neither the fair-haired lord nor her dark-skinned brother would leave her, nor would Darrow allow Merithurian politics to distract them from her care.

Finally a blacksmith was able to bring a special jewel-tipped tool that cut her free, and only then was Halasaa able to help some of her deepest cuts. Whatever metal it had been, it hindered his ability to fully heal her – even after it was cut away – by creating what he called "a dam in the river" in his croaking voice.

"A small stream is able to get by," he continued, gently fingering a small lock of her hair away from the chaffed band around her neck. "She will live, she will heal. But it will take time."

Darrow wrung out a rag in a basin of cool water and silently sponged her pale face. She had developed a fever, and he stubbornly fought to break it.

Halasaa regarded his sister. The worst of the cuts were closed, though scarred. He had managed that much at least, though it had taken great effort. Around her slim wrists the burn from the ropes still blazed bright red, as did the band around her pale neck. Small beads of sweat stood on her flushed face, and she made small movements of discomfort, small whimpers that cut through him to hear. No matter how desperately he tried to reach her, to help her, even with the collar gone, it had left its mark upon her still.

She did not open her eyes.

Glancing up, he scrutinized his sister's intended. The man was a wreck. Dark circles under his eyes, gaunt, haggard features. He had not slept in four days, had barely eaten. At least Halasaa – anxious as he was – knew he was no good to Calwyn starved and exhausted.

_The price of a vigil…_

Darrow looked up at him.

Oh._ Sorry._

He had forgotten that Darrow could hear him. At least, he could now, this close, with Calwyn lying between them. Darrow dipped the rag again. Every cry Calwyn made, every movement of pain, brought more anguish into his gray eyes.

Suddenly, her whimpers increased, her breathing erratic. She began to thrash weakly in the bed, mumbling, "Don't… don't please… not him…"

Halasaa put his hands on her head and tried to reach her within her mind to calm her.

Darrow whispered in her ear, "Shh," dropping the rag so that he could gently stroke her hair and take one of her grasping hands. "Calwyn," he soothed, pushing his fear down so she would not hear it in his voice. "My love, it's all right. I'm here."

It didn't help.

She tossed and turned all night, alternating between searing sweats and bone-rattling chills. Halasaa and Darrow cooled her brow, replaced her covers, coaxed water between her chapped lips, and prayed to whatever power was listening that her fever would break before it killed her.

That power granted their wish just before dawn.

She took a ragged breath and went very still, and for a moment both feared the worst. But then sweat began to run in rivers from her listless body, her breathing eased, and her brow felt cool for the first time since they had found her in the desert. Both men took up dry rags in an attempt to sponge the sweat away, and Darrow supported her head as he held yet another cup to her lips.

This time, she took a small sip.

A curved smile as wide as an ocean sunrise spread across Darrow's sharp face, his breath expelled in a long sigh of relief. Halasaa smiled also, placing his hand on her forehead as Darrow gently lowered her down to the sodden pillow.

_Halasaa…_

His dark eyes widened. Had he truly heard her??

Her eyes opened into small slits, and her hands reached out. Both men snatched them up.

_You are safe, my sister. _Her brother poured all his love for her into his gentle words, not bothering to hide his relief at her ability to speak to him. It was a small sign that the effects of the collar may not be permanent. But now was not the time to think of that. _ Sleep now. It will heal you._

"Calwyn?" Darrow asked, willing her to look at him, to see him, to know that he was there.

She turned, her eyes fluttering as she beheld his exhausted, anxious face. "D-Darrow…" she tried. "I…"

"Shh," he raised her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. "Sleep. I will not leave you." Her eyes slid shut, her breathing soft and even.

"I will go find Heben," Halasaa whispered to Darrow, wishing his sister to rest. "We will bring fresh linens, water for bathing…" He rose and silently withdrew.

Darrow stayed by the bed, holding her hand in both his own, watching her slow breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

After a long while in silence, when he was sure she was deeply asleep, he began to whisper, so low she would have had to read his lips to understand what he said.

"Oh, Calwyn," he breathed. "I thought I would never see you again." He huffed a silent laugh. "As many dangers as we have faced, as much as we have risked…"

He was silent again, thinking. She did not stir, continued to sleep, to heal. It would cost him nothing to speak now, to… rehearse, perhaps…

"In Antaris," he began, then stopped again, chewing his lip. "In the infirmary… as I lay there dying…" his throat began to tighten, his fear rising in a black wave, but he forced himself to continue, his voice growing stronger. "All I could think was that I would never be able to say to you the things you deserve to hear, that my breath would be stolen before there was a chance." His fist roughly wiped an escaping tear from his cheek. "I would never be parted from you again," he breathed, and began to tremble. "I would have you stand beside me, as my equal."

He paused.

"As my wife." Another tear fell. This time, he did not wipe it away.

"I love you."

_I… love you… too._

He started, eyes wide. Her eyes opened a fraction, and she gave him a brief, weary smile before they slid shut once more.

He let out one broken sob before clamping down, refusing to break when she needed him to be strong. But she opened her eyes again, though it cost her great effort.

_Don't… Darrow. Don't._

Her hand slid and weakly tugged his arm until he crawled beside her in the bed, and somehow she managed to wrap an arm around him, holding him close. He buried his face in her dark hair, and let the tears fall.

He wept for the child who had been stolen away from love, and he wept for the woman who could not help but give him her heart. Even now, wracked with pain and spent from fever, she reached out to offer him comfort.

_I will tell her, _he vowed as his heart broke within his chest. _I will tell her everything she has asked and I have not answered. Together we will find my parents, so that they can know what has become of their son. So that they can know this woman who saved him, and who may be able to save us all. _He took a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. _They may not be proud of who I have been,_ he thought._ But I will make sure that they are proud of who I shall become. _

He squeezed her hand, quieting his breathing and feeling hers deepen beneath him as she succumbed to the siren call of sleep.

_She deserves nothing less… _he trailed off, exhaustion and relief pulling him down into the warm, slumbering depths.

But even in sleep, he would not let her go.

_-Finis-_

XXX

_Perhaps there will be a sequel. I'm a teacher who began this story last year on summer vacation, and it took until Spring Break before I had time to write it again. I will promise that – if there is a sequel – it will be completed before the end of this year's summer vacation. Thanks to everyone who R&Rs!! _


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